They

Are still broken.

They aren’t unbent or unbruised

Or unashamed or unbothered

But they aren’t bashful about bringing their baggage with them.

And they are stronger because of it.

They remember what rock bottom felt like.

How the bile smelt as it burst out of their mouth

How badly they wanted to give in and be done

How badly…

But how beautiful it felt to be held by their

[non-corny way of saying besties]

They don’t care if people don’t like their art

Or their body

Or the cccracks in their voice

Or their curiosity

Their curiosity creates life.

They create with conviction because they

Can’t help but be obsessed with beauty.

They’re going to read this when they can’t.

They endlessly think about the end ,

To ensure they are enjoying their present

They float effortlessly between feeling everything everywhere all at once

And nothing.

And they feel freed by the fact that even in nothing

There is something .

They find peace with the feeling that they are

Fading, floating, flying, falling

Away

And they feel grateful.

I’m often reminded of you.

When I feel joy overwhelm me.

Joy I thought you were faking.

When joy reveals itself plainly.

When joy reveals itself through song.

When synths feel cinematic and manic

and make me want to morph my body into a star.

When I hear lamentations about our eventual fate

that still allow space for awe amid lingering angst

When I want to feel everything, everywhere, all at once

When I want to feel everyone I love.

When I am wondering where I learned how to care.